Darkest before Dawn (The Kingdom of Mercia Book 2) by Jayne Castel Page A

are strong,” she whispered, “but in my father’s
hall, women are seen and not heard. Don’t let my brother break you.”
     
    ***
     
    Maric took a seat at the long feasting table and reached
for a cup of mead. The sooner he took the edge off this evening the better. He
would have preferred to sit next to the other warriors, at one of the tables at
the far end of the hall, but Oswiu had insisted that he join the king’s table.
    You are Paeda’s representative in my hall so
you will dine with me.
    Still, Maric had made sure he took a seat near the
farthest end from the king – the last thing he wanted was to be drawn into
conversation.
    As it was, he barely suffered sitting amongst the people
who had defeated his. It took all his willpower not to leave the hall and dine
on stale bread in the stables. He had no stomach for the rich dishes the
servants placed before him: roast boar, venison stew and braised mutton,
accompanied by platters of buttered roasted carrot, onions and turnips. An
enormous swan, stuffed with chestnuts and apples dominated the king’s table as
a centerpiece.
    It was, indeed, a feast to celebrate victory. Fighting
discomfort, Maric took a long draught of mead and watched the royal family take
their seats.
    Oswiu sat down upon his carved chair, and picked up a
golden cup, studded with amber. A servant appeared at the king’s elbow and
poured him some mead.
    Alchfrith, the newly made King of Deira took a seat at
his father’s right, joined by his winsome Mercian wife. To their right sat a
boy who bore a startling resemblance to Oswiu. Maric assumed this was the
king’s second son, Ecgfrith. Next to Oswiu, the queen took her seat. She
carried a swaddled babe in her arms, and wore a plush ermine stole about her
neck. To the queen’s left sat Princess Alchflaed. A little girl, of around
three winters in age, perched upon Alchflaed’s knee.
    Maric’s gaze rested upon the princess. Two years had
passed since he had seen her last, but Alchflaed was even more striking than he
remembered. Truthfully, he had thought little of her after taking his leave of
Bebbanburg, for other matters had taken his attention. Watching her now, he had
to admit she possessed a wild beauty that drew a man’s eye.
    Alchflaed appeared pale and tense this evening, although
it added to, rather than detracted from, her loveliness. Her eyes were a warm green
against milky skin. Her hair was unbound; a russet mane that tumbled around her
shoulders.
    Unlike the last time Maric had seen her, the princess was
dressed in more feminine clothing this evening; in a green sleeveless tunic,
made of fine wool. A single bronze arm-ring adorned the bicep of her left arm but
she wore no other jewelry.
    Sensing that someone was looking at her, the princess
looked up, and her gaze fused with Maric’s. Like the last time they had locked
eyes, Maric’s reaction to this woman had surprised him.
    Captivated, he stared at her for a moment longer, drawn
in. The heat in her eyes set his veins alight, and when he eventually looked away,
he found he was sweating.
     
    Alchflaed stared at the dark haired warrior seated at the
far end of the table. She recognized him – his dark hair was a little longer,
his expression harder, but his eyes were that same crystalline blue.
    He was the same warrior who had accompanied Penda to
Bebbanburg two years earlier. Just like that brief moment when their gazes had
met then, her senses reeled now. The sensation was like a physical blow, just
below her sternum. Light headed, her misery temporarily forgotten, Alchflaed returned
his stare, transfixed.
    A sense of loss washed over her when he looked away.
    Heart hammering, Alchflaed looked down at the trencher of
venison stew, which a servant had just set before her. Unhappiness had robbed
her of any appetite today, and now her stomach had closed completely.
    “Alchflaed?”
    She looked up to find the queen frowning at her.
    “Are you ill?”
    “No,” she